Work Text:
3:57
Doppio exhales, letting his hands fall to the just cleaned metal counter where he'd slave away at, kneading dough.
Fucking bread, Doppio hated it. He despised it. He had first come into the job as a fresh-faced teen, ready to earn a living in the city of Naples and now, at the age of 21, all he did was earn money to survive. It was all he could do. Every month, his landlord would come to his door, demanding to be paid in cash, and every month, Doppio would have to cough up everything he had.
At his job, he'd earn little to nothing. Sure, he was getting paid more than minimum wage, but this city just eats everything up, leaving Doppio with only a few humble possessions.
That is what bread is to him, a symbol of his desperate struggle to carry on, without ever progressing to anything. Every day he worked, besides the weekends, and everyday his back would ache and his forehead would sweat, and what did he get in return?
A chance at life.
But a miserable life filled with misery and loneliness. Loneliness he found himself battling with, on those thousand sleepless nights.
3:59
Doppio scanned the rest of the bakery from behind the counter with groggy eyes. As quaint and pretty the bakery was, the air was always stagnant. The windows were always shut tight, and a fan was apparently out of the managers budget. When he was first hired, Doppio tried to have a word with his domineering manager, Lotti, about the atmosphere, but he was instantly put in his place, as Lotti had taken it as a sign of assertion. Because of the lack of ventilation, the smell of yeast and cooked bread would become so thick, Doppio would choke on it.
A deep frown settled on Doppio's face.
After that, she'd stand behind him, criticizing every move he'd make. Everything Doppio would do was wrong, and she'd point it out in front of his co-workers with a glare that spoke, 'I will treat you the same if you speak up.' And so even Doppio's coworkers, Angela and Elio would avoid him like the plague.
Luckily, he was the only one in that afternoon as Tuesday afternoons were far from busy.
The tables had been all wiped down, and chairs neatened. There was nothing left for him to worry about.
A soft quiet beep had interrupted Doppio's weary thoughts. He sighed once more and looked at the dull painted silver of his cheap market watch.
4:00
He was finished for the day. He was finally able to go home and enjoy his feeble freedom. Not that there was much to enjoy. Doppio was so far gone into his nihilistic depression that he almost didn't feel a thing when his watch would make that noise. The small and sad beep that was supposed to be a reassuring signal that his shift was over had over time, turned into a sob. A sob that Doppio couldn't let out. A sob that only existed through the chimes of a shoddy watch.
Doppio made his way back into the stuffy small kitchen, made sure to grab his backpack, and left towards the cream-colored backdoor, clutching the bakery keys as he went. He didn't hesitate to open the door into the small and empty backyard parking and step out into the open, and all too radiant lot. His face crinkled as he put his free arm up, shielding himself from the glaring sun before him. He squinted at the red brick wall opposite himself, right at the decaying years' old election poster.
Doppio's eyes widened, then a slow grimace appeared on his already frustrated and dark expression.
It was empty.
Completely empty. Right in front of Doppio, where his ashy silver bicycle would always sit, was missing.
Who the fuck would go into some random backstreet entrance and steal, quite possibly, the cheapest bike ever made?
Doppio clicked his tongue and tightened his grip on his bag. What was he to do? Sure, it was cheap, but riding his bike was the easiest way for Doppio to get to work, and now, like everything else in his life, it was taken away.
Doppio groaned and leaned against the door behind him. He'd have to walk. His apartment wasn't that far, but every second wasted could be used for something productive. Something important.
What a joke. If Doppio wasn't so exhausted, he would have scoffed at himself. Nothing Doppio ever did was productive, not a single thing. He used to be, when he was fresh out of school, he did all he could to get on his own feet, out of Sardinia. He'd work on his photography until his arms ached and mind strayed. When he first started, every image seemed so vibrant and full of life. Now, his pictures felt monochrome, no matter the filter used.
He began to walk out on the open street. One foot at a time. He passed by a number of people and kept his head down, a lesson that the city taught him. Don't concern yourself with others. It will only get you in trouble.
The streets were warm and stylish. Their Italian design simple and neat. Doppio flung his backpack onto his shoulders and began to trudge home.
He didn't realize how far he walked until he caught notice of a boy in a yellow hat a few meters in front of him. He was over halfway home already. At least he had that to look forward to.
His eyes focused on the boy again as Doppio watched him go over to a neatly trimmed bush. Doppio assumed he was bug catching, as kids do, but before he could focus on anything else, the kid lunged out towards the road, right in front of incoming traffic.
"Oi, kid that's dangerous!" Doppio shouted, but by then the truck was already meters from the boy.
His body reacted almost instinctively as he reached out for the boy on the road. He heard the kid mutter something before realizing he had put himself in front of the truck.
Everything seemed to go quiet and slow. Almost as if Doppio was stuck in time and he couldn't move.
The screeching of the breaks and the sudden growling heat of the engine snapped Doppio out of his almost trance-like state. He snapped his eyes open to the shadow of a monster above him. He could see the dusty, grotty metal maze of pipes and sheets block out the sunlight above.
The smell of burning rubber caught up to him before his vision could. He turned his head towards the smell as he noticed the sting on his elbows and chin.
Inches from his ear was a hefty black tire, heated from friction, supporting the heavy metals of the truck above.
A near miss.
He could have been decapitated.
Doppio scrambled to sit up, backing away from the truck before him. He shuffled onto the sidewalk, still on the ground and saw the driver door of the truck swing open.
His heart beat so hard, like an animal thrashing at its cage, trying to escape.
The driver was yelling at him, but none of his words could reach Doppio's ears. All he could hear was his own hyperventilation, and the drums of his pulse.
Some people crowded around him, all watching with horrified, or amused stares. The kid seemed to have run off. A beautiful woman with curly black hair and a sunshine dress spoke to him, and reach out her hand.
Doppio sniffled and took her hand, pulling himself up. He mumbled something of a 'thank you' and hurried off. Desperate to get out of the spotlight.
His legs shook, yet they carried him afar, as if on autopilot. He didn't have to think about where he was going. He just knew he'd get there.
Doppio couldn't shake out the fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He tried to breathe normally, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. All he could think about was the heat of the truck and the sharp wailing screech of the tire.
His feet stumbled over a loose brick or two as his pace sped up.
He had to get home. He needed to rest. Or at least, get control over himself.
The familiar stairs of his apartment complex came sooner than expected, and he was glad they did.
Each step up the sleek silver metal step clanged loudly against Doppio's midnight work shoes. The noises felt surreal. They felt as if they were something else entirely. Doppio huffed, a dark and tired expression never leaving his face.
Apartment 312.
He didn't know how the key even got into his hand, but he didn't care. Doppio stabbed at the lock with his key, shaking as he did so. It jingled and clicked, opening for him. Somehow, Doppio felt like an intruder in his own home. Everything felt the same, yet different.
His interior was fairy empty and monochrome. His kitchen greeted him every time he came back from work, as he'd usually make his way past and into the living room, where a single grey couch laid.
He collapsed onto the hard angular couch, groaning. He almost died.
He almost died.
It was so sudden. He should have known better. This is what happens when you interfere with someone's life.
"Shit..." He cursed. His breath was shaky, and his voice quivered. It almost didn't sound like him.
Maybe...
Maybe he actually died?
That's a possibility, right?
Doppio gripped onto himself, clasping his palms onto his forearms. He felt real.
But that wasn't proof. Ghosts might be able to touch themselves.
He needed more evidence.
Doppio removed his backpack from his shoulders, digging for his phone frantically. He needed to speak to someone. As soon as he got a hold of his phone he was hit with a sudden realization. Who would he call? He left his caregiver, a priest in Sardinia without much of a goodbye.
He had no one.
Maybe... Maybe Doppio had never existed in the first place
Snapping him out of his existential crisis came a buzzing vibration from his phone. He looked at the message displayed at the top of the screen.
4:45 KCr333: Hello